The Truth About Shadows
by Illisandria Carthain
Summary: Shadows of the past are captured in parchment and ink, trapped as I once was. I, the last Shadow of the Great Father since Her descent, will tell the story of my fall and my rise to glory and the glory of my cubs.
1. Tales of the Universe

_Once upon a time, for this is how all tales start, there was a young Draconis named Tiamat._

Tales such as this one have been sung for generations by my people. In fact, my own Birthing Mother was a skald, one who sang of the past and future. Were it not for Her, her songs of our history would still echo in the Singing Caves in the Home of Our Ancestors. Unfortunately, She did come and now I am the last of my race, of the pure Guards. But I, too, have a story to sing; one of loss and gain, of love and hate, of strength found in the darkest of times, and one of changing the Universe's design.

Nothing is impossible here. Nothing is untouched and nothing is sacred.

Here there be dragons.

**xxx}-|||)xxx(fsh)xxx**

It was a calm night when She sent us out, Her warning still ringing in my skull even after we arrived at the Hideout of Our Enemies. _**I have things planned for you, Sharp Fang of His Blinking Eye, dark and terrible things that you are powerless to stop. Tremble at yourimpotence and your insecurity. Feel fear again, you smell so delicious when you're afraid. And make sure they die beautifully, those Skenndar.**_ She was insane and cruel! And yet, of my own volition here I was, following Her orders to command a Murder of Draconis and raid the Hideout. Was I as bad as Her?

My Murder was pretty normal by raiding standards: three Boulders of Boneheads, one Quill of Prickers, half a Prowl of Those Who Speak Twice, thirteen-or-so Clouds of Snip-snaps, myself, and two Ones Who Cloak Themselves in His Colours. Overall, a pretty satisfactory Murder if I were concentrating on the raid. Which I wasn't.

No, I was far too busy worrying about what plans She had for this Murder as I watched the younger of the two Cloaks clumsily order around the other Draconis. She had plans to kill off every Draconis here, more or less, simply for rebellion or memory of the Old Times. The Snip-snaps were here because they were expendable at best to Her.

Cruelty was Her specialty, to be as unforgiving as the winter snow and as volatile as the ocean. She wore Her madness for everyone to see; unfortunately most of the Draconis who still visited the Home of Our Ancestors chose not to believe their eyes, instead relying on their Mind's Eye, which was being clouded by Her Control.

Foolish, pitiful Draconis.

I watched as the younger Cloak roared at the Boneheads for not listening to him. Folly and a waste of his breath, Boneheads were named that for a reason, a blend of Attacker and Scout making for a low intelligence.

As this was going on, the older Cloak looked at me and smiled, "_Et va an sangris? Trell drest an sangris, dyeh?_"

I stiffened, not too many of the younger generation, those born under Her reign, knew Old Tongue. How did this Cloak know it?! Even my Old Tongue was weak from disuse and I was the smallest and youngest of my Birth-Brothers.

And, I had to bitterly remind myself, I couldn't speak it very well to begin with because there were no Elders of First Speakers to teach me after She woke.

"_Trell drest an sangris?!_" One of the older Boneheads lumbered past the young Cloak and growled at the older one. "_Davyet an sangris, trell drest dashtek sangris. Baern drest daln drevyek sangris._" The old one scoffed and turned away, "_Sandyen travek Claek._"

From what I could gather, the Bonehead was angry at the Cloak's choice of phrase. "For the glory of blood." It had set the old one off and he insisted that, in the past, the "glory of blood" was not used to motivate senseless murder, but to promise a good afterlife with the Great Father. Then he proceeded to say that children didn't know the "glory of blood" and that the Cloak was stupid and needed to keep his fool snout shut.

Loosely translated, of course.

The elder Cloak shrugged his massive fore-haunches and snorted a small stream of liquid fire. "Can't blame someone for trying."

"How do you know Old Tongue?" I needed to know if there was someone like me out there, someone who remembered their cub-hood and the time before Her.

"Ah," a smug look appeared on the Cloak's snout as he sat back on his hind legs, "Great Mother insisted that certain cubs learn Old Tongue so that we would be able to sniff out traitors and derelict old ones." He shrugged his fore-haunches again, "Didn't know She sent old ones out on raids anymore. Thought She would just Integrate them."

I bristled slightly at that and shook my head, "She works in _mysterious_ ways, doesn't She?"

The Cloak nodded, "Yes She does. We are blessed by the Great Father to have our Great Mother in our Home."

_Not our Home. The Home of Our Ancestors._ I nodded and then faced the rear of the Hideout we were raiding. It had been some time since I had ever felt for the Skenndar, and yet...they were at Her mercy, pliable to Her will, controlled by Her fancy.

Piteous things, so weak as to be toyed with by Snip-snaps.

That's how things had been at first, when the raids started after She took over. The Skenndar, the weak little mammals, had been easy to kill. Many Draconis even made a sport of it; it had been called "Caest Skenndar Sangris" or "Spill the Scaleless' Blood". I even partook, so influenced by Her rule, so cruel as a young Yearling I was.

That was back when I thought of her as my Great Mother, and not of the Fiend that haunted my dreams with Her cruel laugh and sharp fangs.

_**Your family is dead because of you. You Birthing Mother, your Birthing Father, all dead for your mistake. What a foolish little cub, wearing his Birthing Father's cast-off skin as his own! Step out of your hide and see what you have done, the havoc you have wrought.**_

I shook off the image of Her teeth in my head and stared at the rear of the Hideout. Ever since three Blinking-Cycles ago, the Skenndar had been winning our skirmishes. Right now the Captured Fires had not been lit but there were a few Skenndar prowling the nighttime. They seemed wary, as if on edge, but everyone knew that Skenndar were dumb as wool-beasts and cluck-beasts. They were not capable of cognisant speech, nor coherent thought. It was pure restlessness that kept the stragglers up, not wary minds and distrustful thoughts.

I flicked my tail to catch the attention of the elder Cloak. "Yes," the Draconis asked sincerely.

"What is your name?"

He looked a tad put-aback by my question, as if my insistence to know was alien—and it was. "Crimson Hue of His Bright Eye, but most others call me Crimson; you?"

"Sharp Fang." I would never give someone the Given Name that had killed my family: "Of His Blinking Eye". I stared at the Hideout and sighed deeply, "Fly true."

"Wind at your back Fang," Crimson replied as he took off, large wings lifting him as easily as breathing in and out. The raid was to begin.

It started off well: we carted off a few of the baskets of fish from their storage not-cave and a small amount of wool-beasts—twenty or so—away from the Hideout when tragedy struck.

Or, should I say, idiocy struck.

A particularly _thick_ Bonehead—whose name was Grinding of Scales on His Skin—mistook the face-fur of a Skenndar for a wool-beast and ripped a quarter of the poor fool's face off before she realised her mistake. Out of mercy, a Pricker named Sting of His Bite shot a quill deep into the Skenndar's neck, ending its life.

Thusly the battle started.

Flames shot, not-fangs made of Ringing Midgar flew across the battle, clipping the wings of many-a-Draconis. Those were the merciful deaths.

Crimson, the younger Cloak, and I had perched on the top of a cliff when the battle started, waiting for the opportune moment for us to enter the fray. The younger Cloak was not pleased with this tactical choice, "_Et tenn! Crimson, et vas an sangris, dyek? Et vas an sangris!_" He whined at the older Cloak, dipping his head and snorting in frustration.

"_Nik, nik tenn. Sakk nesse! **Nesse,**Flashfang!_" Crimson retorted. He said something along the lines of 'No, you can't go fight. Sit here, Flashfang!'.

I finally understood the point of her teaching certain cubs Old Tongue! It wasn't just to weed out potential traitors, but to also allow for communication between members of Her Nest without spies finding out what She had planned! She is clever, I had to give her that.

I pretended not to understand them and simply watched as Clever Twist of His Tongue, a Twice with jet-green stripes along her head, snatched up three woolbeasts and flew off with a shriek of joy. "I will return and report to Her!"

"Brown-snout," I griped. Crimson and Flashfang nodded, Flashfang's snout wrinkling up as he tried not to snarl at Twist's retreating form.

The battle was turning from an actual battle into a one-sided slaughter in favour of the Skenndar as His Blinking Eye rose in His Underbelly. I nodded at Flashfang and he vaulted from his position on the cliff with his wing-claws. Lighting himself on fire, he crawled up to the top of a not-tree and attempted to attack a Skenndar. Then the Skenndar attacked back, and visibly wounded him.

Crimson and I stared in shock, no ordinary Skenndar could beat a Cloak! This had to be the Skenndar Great Father!

That is when Crimson lit from his place on the cliff to the Hideout below, quietly stalking a small herd of wool-beasts. It was when the largest part of my Murder got captured that I decided it was time for me to act and signal a retreat. As much as I hated Her, I didn't want Draconis like Crimson, Flashfang, Scales, and Sting to perish in vain.

I launched myself into the Underbelly and pumped my wings to reach a proper altitude. Once I was sufficiently high enough, I hovered as best I could—for Guards were not meant to hover as Scouts were—and spotted my target: the not-tree that Flashfang had been beaten down at. I dove, wingtips tucked into my flanks, and drew on the Tha'um—the Voice of the Guards. I drew the Word deep into my chest and let it out with a shriek: "**blæzt**!"

The not-tree tore apart in a scatter of broken tree-bits and frantic Skenndar. I smugly nodded as I pushed on through the wave of nausea that comes with using the Tha'um. _Serves the dumb beasts right. They should know better than to mess with a Shadow! Even the Skenndar Great Father can't beat me!_

As I wheeled about and reigned in my rolling guts, I found a new target, one that would terrify the Skenndar so bad they would drop dead from the shock: the Captured Fire.

Unlike other beasts, the Skenndar aren't gifted with any modes of fighting at night; they don't have good eyes, nor do they have good ears, nor do they have the ability to sense vibrations, nor do they have the ability to smell their opponent in full, nor do they even have the ability to feel the change in temperature that occurs around other beasts or Draconis. In the dark they are defenceless. In the dark, Draconis have the upper field.

"**gjóstr**!" The Tha'um tossed the Captured Fire over on its side, setting the landscape ablaze for an instant before the Word drew down and the flames quelled when the pressure lifted.

I darted back into the Underbelly, shrieking to the remaining Draconis, "Flee! We have enough to placate Her! Don't let the Skenndar any further on risk of death! To our Home!"

Many calls answered back, among that the fluid sound of Crimson giving an affirmative, and I wheeled around. I built another Word inside my chest, unleashing it at another not-tree, "**strīchan**!" The not-tree blew apart into splinters and a sharp burst of flame, throwing three Skenndar from its heights. _Finally,_ I sighed to myself, _I can leave these filthy beasts...I am un-hittable, un-defeated, invincible, invisible, the Legendary Shadow of the Great Father! All must bow to my might!_ In the midst of my celebratory crowing, I felt my wings forcibly close around my body as the sensation of being wrapped in a large web enveloped me. Thrashing in my bonds, I attempted to break free, to escape a grisly fate at the hands of Midgard, but was unsuccessful. So instead, I closed my eyes and prayed to Him, prayed that the Draconis in my Murder were okay. And that I would die swiftly and wait for him in Hel.

Neither wish were fulfilled.

**xxx(fsh)xxx(|||-{xxx**

_Once upon a time, for all tales begin this way, there was nothing but the Universe._

_Large and empty, the Universe was lonely for It had no one to share Itself with. So, in a fit of either madness or inspiration, the Universe created an Egg._

_The Egg shone with every light of every colour, reflected the past, present, and the future in its shell. It grew in size, tripling and quadrupling in circumference until it was ready._

_From its depths emerged Jörmungadr, the Great Father, and the Universe was no longer alone. From the egg-milk was created the stars, shining bright for Jörmungadr. Created from the shell pieces were planets of all shapes and sizes, ready for life to begin on them. And the Universe was happy._

_Yet Jörmungadr was lonely, for He had no one like him to be with. So the Universe granted Him the Skill to Create in His image._

_Finding a planet the colour of His scales and His Underbelly, He breathed a mist and from it came the First Guards. He looked at the white and black Draconis, one Ridge-span high, and said, "You are named Umbra and Luz. From you shall come greatness; take your Gift and guard Her."_

_Then he breathed forth a mist again and from it came the First Attackers, crimson and gold Draconis five Ridge-span across. He spoke to them as well, "You are Vaala and Ash. From you shall come strength. Use your Gift to cut down anyone who might hurt Her."_

_And the third time he breathed mist, it gave form to the First Scouts. They were beryl and spring-green but one sixteenth of a Ridge-span high, yet carried themselves with pride. "You are Giftig and Veezhe. From you shall come multitudes. Use your Gift to find sustenance for Her."_

_Then, Jörmungadr breathed out mist one last time, and in its depths was a small Egg, golden in colour and precious to the Draconis around it. "This," He whispered, "Is La Bella; just as I am your Great Father, so shall she be your Great Mother upon her arrival. Guard Her, Attack Her enemies, Scout for food for Her; never let harm befall Her for She is your future." Then, His piece said, He encircled the blue-green planet the Draconis were born on and took His tail in His mouth._

_It is said that when He finally lets go, all Draconis will be called to Hel with Him, and the life of Midgard will come to an end in a blaze of fire and ice._

_So ends the tale of our Creation, and of our Great Father and Mother. There is truth in Song._


	2. Crawling Upon the Ground

**(A/N: This chapter brought to you by Google Translate. Google Translate: "Accuracy? What is accuracy be? We is accuracy! Always.")**

Pain. All I could feel was pain. Pain in my head, sharp, like a Pricker quill between my eyes. A dull ache in my chest indicated a few broken, or heavily bruised, ribs. The worst pain, however, came from the gashes in my hide and tail. Dirt and gravel had lodged itself in the cuts and was rubbing the tender flesh sharply. Every time I breathed in, the not-vines of the not-web tightened around my body, reminding me I was trapped here on Midgard.

_Damn Skenndar!_ I growled in my head angrily, _I swear by the Great Father's Bright Eye that I will cause whatever Skenndar shot me down, __**lots**__ of pain. I promise this!_

Its scent was all over the not-web; an oddly comforting combination of ash, Ringing Midgard, fire, and trees. Whatever Skenndar made this had to be legendary! No Skenndar had ever caught me before, so this one must be their Guard.

I had also noticed that the not-web that held me was different from the not-webs that the Skenndar usually use. Where the normal not-webs are made of vines and weighted tree-balls, this one was made of what smelled like Ringing Midgard and burned prong-beast. It was tougher than the vines and I was having trouble getting up with the Ringing Midgard weighting me down. Clever, clever Skenndar.

I lay there, kissing Midgard and eating harbinger. _I am un-hittable, un-defeatable, invincible, invisible, the Legendary Shadow of the Great Father, and I am an idiot! What kind of cub just gloats in the midst of a battle, whether or not they had used the Tha'um to turn the tide?! A yolk-brain, that's who!_ Snorting angrily, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift off in the midst of pain. This wouldn't have been the first time I'd done this, nor would it be the last.

**xxx}-|||)xxx(fsh)xxx**

_Once upon a time, for that is how all stories begin, there was the creation of the Skenndar Great Ones._

_The Universe was happy with the Draconis, they were not displeasing to It, but It longed for more. So, It created the three Skenndar Great Ones, brothers by the name Vili, Vé, and Odin. They too were displeased with being the only of their kind, so they sought the power to Create from the Universe and were granted such._

_Choosing the Great Father's planet, the brothers looked for suitable objects to glean life from. Vili spotted the trees that spring from the places where Draconis have died and mentioned it to his brothers. They determined that the recycling of life would be an excellent source for their Skenndar._

_Odin took up an ashbark that grew from an Attacker and made the first Skenndar sire. Vili filled it with the wisdom of strength and Vé blessed it with the limited sight and hearing of their kind. Then Odin took up a dapplebark tree grown from a Guard and gave it the form and life of an egg-bearing Skenndar. Vili filled it with the wisdom of an egg-bearer and Vé granted it Skenndar sight and hearing._

_Satisfied with their work, the three brothers placed the Skenndar on Midgard and left them to do their own thing, going on to Asgard high above the Great Father._

_They were a novelty at first, a pet to have in the home. The more Skenndar you had at your beck and call in your Home, the better off you were. The Draconis taught their Skenndar to speak Draco, about art, how to hunt, and how to love. They were educated and refined until they were like scaleless, two-legged Draconis. There was peace._

_It did not last long, but that is a story for another time. There is truth in song._

**xxx}-|||)xxx(fsh)xxx**

I woke to the wet smell of His Breath upon Midgard and the sound of tree-bits breaking. The forest around me had gone silent, not even the loud calls of feather-beasts could be heard. Something was wrong.

"_Ohh, er goðin skulu hata mig. Sumir missa rýtingur þeirra eða uppáhalds mál þeirra, en ekki mig, nei! Ég stjórna að missa heilt DREKINN!_" I froze—not that I could do much moving around regardless—and inhaled.

_There_. I could smell Skenndar. Another deep whiff and I almost cried out in anger; the Skenndar approaching me was the same one that shot me down.

The smell of ash, fire, Ringing Midgard, and trees permeated the very ground itself, invading my nostrils and tongue with its calm. _No! No, no, no, no! No! It can't get any closer! I won't let it!_ Terror took over, clouding my vision in blankets of grey and I thrashed for a bit, drawing its attention to me.

"_Hvað var þetta?! Er að Nótt Móðr? Vá,_" the Skenndar barked in—what I assumed to be, since I could not read emotion in beasts—awe. "_Líta á þess óreiðu! Kannski..._" Hurried steps grew closer quickly and I stiffened in fear.

_If you don't move, it can't tell if you're alive...if you stay perfectly still it'll think you're dead and leave you alone. Just. Stay. Still._

"_Oh! É-Ég gerði það! Þetta er frábært; ég trúi ekki að skaut reyndar niður Nótt Móðr! Ég felldi þessa voldugu dýrið!_" The Skenndar came up behind me, clumsy and inept in its stealth—if it had even been trying to be stealthy in the first place, that is. Placing its hind paw on my flank, hard, it purred with pleasure.

_Okay, no more mister dead Draconis,_ I huffed, shrugging it off and abandoning my façade of death, my eyes now open and observing everything. From what I could see, the Skenndar that shot me down was barely a yearling! _Ohh, the humiliation! To be shot down by a mere cub! So falls the last Shadow of the Great Father!_

"_Vá, það hefur augu eins og minn...,_" the cub churred, head cocked to the side. A mop of red hair framed its head like a halo of flame, bringing out its bright green eyes.

_He has eyes like mine,_ I mused, _what cruel trick is this by the Great Father? Am I being punished? Is this my comeuppance for hubris?_

The cub reached inside the fold of his—for it smelled heavily of a Skenndar sire, therefore must be a 'he'—fur and pulled out a not-fang made of Ringing Miðgard. He held it above his head and growled pathetically, "_Ég mun drepa þig, Nótt Móðr. Ég mun skera út hjarta þínu og koma með það til föður míns..._" He tensed and pulled the not-fang higher, readying himself for the killing blow. My eyes met his again and he bared his nubby Skenndar fangs, "_Ég er víkingur._" He was hesitant, terrified even. "_**Ég er víkingur,**_" he roared, "_Ég er...ég mun..._

I stared at him a little while longer, willing his death to be as painful as my own, and then closed my eyes in acceptance. _If you're going to kill me, do it honourably. I will ascend to the Great Father in the form of a mighty tree, and you will tremble in my shade as I cast you into Hel._

"_...Ég gerði þetta..._"

No blow came; no final breath was ended and no blood spilled. Instead, I heard a soft noise and felt the pressure across my breast lessen.

**whirr, whirr, whirr—SNAP!**

Once again, the tension of the not-vines wrapping me up was lessening. _What is the Skenndar doing?!_

But he continued to chew the not-vines with his not-fang until I could move again. I leapt up in one fluid motion—ignoring the massive amount of pain I was in from simply getting up—and pinned him to a piece of Midgard. "Skenndar," I growled at him, ready to exact my revenge. Then a wave of pain hit me and I knew that I had to get away, and if I took the time to kill the Skenndar cub, I wouldn't have the energy to escape. So instead—"**schlæphan**!" The Skenndar's head-fur blew back by the force of my Tha'um and he stiffened, but did not fall unconscious.

_Damn. Looks like...I didn't have enough energy behind that...one..._ I was very dizzy and very nauseous. Using a Tha'um—and an alteration one at that—while already injured was not a good idea. Nope, not a good idea at all.

Simultaneously satisfied and disgusted by the smell of piddle emanating from the Skenndar, I gave a satisfactory huff and attempted to fly off as if nothing was wrong with me at all. Note: I said _attempt_.

I listed to the right constantly, and couldn't hold a power glide for more than a few breaths. Stumbling and crashing my way through the damned forest, I finally managed to catch air and maintain it for more than before. Unfortunately, the air I was catching was right above a large drop-off, and I wasn't flying so much as falling to my demise.

I never realised how bad the wool-beasts we take during our Raids must feel, to be hoisted in the air and then dropped into Her waiting maw, until now. The wind whipped my ear-flaps, tore at my partially furled wings, stung at my various wounds. The whole ordeal must've lasted only a few breaths—though it felt like an eternity—but I managed to unfurl my wings and use them to create enough drag so that I wouldn't go **SPLAT **against Midgard. Again.

If I hadn't previously broken something by falling from His Underbelly to Midgard the first time, I certainly did this time. The pain was absolutely unbearable, excruciating. I could barely breathe because the pain across my chest was so great. Through a great feat of strength, I finally managed to drag myself—bit by bit—towards the lake that lay in front of me. I dipped into it and winced as the water hit my lacerations and abrasions.

"Dammit!" I roared in pain, "Stupid damn Skenndar! _I hope you rot on Midgard as a draugr for all of eternity!_" Cursing the scaleless from here to Hel, I finished my wound-cleaning bath and crawled out to rest.

_Sleep...sleep will heal my wounds._ I created a bed of embers and wearily snuggled into their warmth. As I drifted off I wondered, why didn't he kill me?

_Skenndar always go for the kill._

_Always._


	3. Face-to-Snout

**(A/N: I REGRET NOTHING! NOT EVEN THE FACT THAT I HAVE BEEN UNKNOWINGLY CALLING THE NIGHT FURY RACE NIGHT MOTHER. OOPS! I'LL GO BACK AND FIX THAT! Anyway, shouting aside, this is one of three stories I will devote my time to from now on. This, Defying the Norm, and Penitence & Patience, Glitches & Viruses. These three will be finished before I update anything else so if the story you like is not on this list, sorry! Expect more regular updates from now on! (Emphasis on "more"). As a note: all my 'Viking-speak' is gotten through manipulated Google Translate Icelandic so if anyone sees any issues please tell me so I can learn. I have no way of checking grammar so...:I**

**Anyway! Did I ever mention I love dream-sequences? 'Cause I do. I really, really do. Expect to see more in the future. (Also my second-favourite thing about worldbuilding is religion. I am a non-denominational Christian and thusly all of my fictitious religions reflect that. I hope y'all don't mind my massive religion-fest in this chapter.) Carry on! Enjoy the chapter!)**

I woke to His Bright Eye rising over the horizon. Mind in a haze, I stretched and yawned, immediately regretting it when pain shot through my extremities. Great Father this hurt! Like yesterday my tail and ribs hurt, as did the gashes in my side and on my paws. At least now they were clean and would heal but I had to check the extent of the damage. _And I need to get some food, _I thought as my stomach let out a low growl and cramped. The fish in the lake splashed, taunting me. Stupid scaled assholes...

Pushing the thought of food out of my mind, I used the reflective surface of the water to check out my injuries. I had a large gash across my right flank, smaller cuts across my chin and chest, and I was missing a fang. _Damn Midgard and its sharp edges._ I couldn't see the internal damage but I was pretty sure I fractured at least two of my ribs. The pain in my tail was the most prevalent and I could barely drag it over so I could see the problem; however, when I did, I let loose a roar that must have pierced the veil to the Great Father Himself. My left stabiliser fin was gone!

The entire fin was torn into shreds and no amount of rest or excellent healing Tha'um was going to fix it. The spines of my destroyed fin were jutting out, pale white staggering in comparison to the black, tattered membrane that flapped between them and the rusty, clotted blood that coated that side of my tail. Rage overtook me.

_Damn that Skenndar! Damn him to an eternity as a—no! Damn him to a long and painful life! Damn him that he might see his precious Ragnarok! Damn him that he would never die in honourable battle! Damn him to life!_

I shrieked and let loose foul curses that would shame my Birthing-Mother. I cursed the Skenndar. I cursed his offspring, lineage, endeavours, genitals, and his race as a whole. I swore vengeance tenfold and spewed firebolts until my throat was raw with the effort of pushing them out. When I was done with my fit of rage, I curled up and stared at my ruined tail angrily.

_He crippled me, _I realised with shocking clarity. _I will never fly again._

There were tales that used to echo in the Ringing Caves of the Home of Our Ancestors of Draconis who lost their ability to fly and went mad. My Birthing-Mother used to sing one to me when I was a cub.

_Once upon a time, for this is how all stories start, there was the decent into madness of a Scout named Bright Shine of His Scales._

_Bright Shine was the fastest flier around. She could outrun even the swiftest of Attackers and the fastest of Guards. Her wings shone with the echo of her name and she was proud; so very proud._

_One day she was issued a challenge by a Draconis long since fed up with her boasts and pride. "You cannot reach the Great Father's Bright Eye," the Draconis said. "Your wings will burn up and you will plummet to Midgard and die."_

_Bright Shine could not say no. No one said she could not fly somewhere! How dare that Draconis even think that their statement was true! She accepted the challenge and took off in a blur of colours._

_The first hundred wingbeats were easy. Bright Shine climbed higher and higher with each downward thrust of her mighty wings._

_The next hundred wingbeats were more difficult. Bright Shine found her wings screaming for release as she continued her upwards climb._

_The final hundred wingbeats were agony. Each little muscle in her perfect wings sang with pain as she pushed herself harder and harder to continue the ascent. She was so close; yet, in her prideful fury, she had forgotten one tiny detail about the Great Father's Bright Eye._

_When the Great Father first shined His Bright Eye upon Midgard and the Draconis below, He knew that it was powerful. To protect His Children from hurting themselves, He set up a barrier so that none could come in contact with the great Fire that burned in His Bright Eye._

_Bright Shine hit that barrier with a sharp cracking sound, then began to fall down towards Midgard. She plummeted downwards with greater and greater speed until she was falling faster than she had been flying. When she hit Midgard, the Draconis that had been watching the spectacle mourned her, thinking her dead._

_Bright Shine wasn't dead, but she may as well be. Her precious, perfect wings were ruined. Mangled and tattered, her wings would never heal. No amount of rest or Tha'um would fix what the barrier had done to her wings. She would never fly again._

_Bright Shine wasted away on Midgard. Unable to perform even the simplest of tasks, she had to be taken care of through several Blink Cycles. Her mental state deteriorated until she could no longer differentiate between friend and foe. She would attack anyone who came near her. In the end, she took her own life by throwing herself off of of a cliff. Her pride was her downfall._

_There is truth in Song._

I was Bright Shine this time. Felled by my pride. I spat a firebolt at the ground in disgust. _What kind of pathetic cub am I? Felled—crippled—by a Skenndar!_ I looked back at my ruined stabiliser fin and, in a bout of anger, managed to push aside my pain in order to properly take care of the mess that was what was left of it.

I unsheathed my teeth and tore the remainder of the membrane away from the bone; then, almost screaming from the pain I was inflicting upon myself, I snapped the bone off where it met flesh. I spat the bone fragment out of my mouth and hissed as blood began to flow from the reopened wound. With one last grunt of effort, I shot a small stream of fire out and cauterised the wound.

After that I stopped holding back the waves of nausea and black that rippled in the corners of my mind. Darkness overtook me and I passed into unconsciousness gratefully; blissfully slipping away from the pain and worries that plagued me while waking.

My last waking thought at that time was how the blue in His Underbelly seemed to mirror my own lachrymose mood.

And darkness overtook me.

**xxx}-|||)xxx(fsh)xxx**

_I was just a cub, huddled in the nest of moss and smouldering coals my Birthing Mother made for me and my siblings. I was the youngest and the only one to not yet fly but I was not upset by this. In fact, I was apprehensive about soon taking flight. My Birthing-Siblings had tormented me for many Bright-Cycles with tales of young cubs that had died learning to fly and I was scared of failure._

_I was currently thinking about the multitude of unnamed cubs that had plummeted to their deaths when I heard it. There was a deep rumble and a low thrumming that resonated in my chest and made me suddenly numb and calm. I remained this way until I heard the screams of my Birthing-Family. My Birthing-Mother screamed in pain and there was the horribly clear noise of bones crunching. My Birthing-Father and Birthing-Siblings roared. Following that was the sound and smell of firebolts hitting something._

_The sound of a large bout of flames resounded in the cave we inhabited in the Home of Our Ancestors and the smell of burning Draconis flesh assaulted my nostrils. I shrank back in my soft, warm nest and cried out in fear. Where were my Birthing-Family? Were they okay? What had happened?! Was it safe to leave my nest? I reached out with my Mind's Eye in order to try and find them. I just had to find them!_

_Just as soon as the worry began to claw my gut, the thrumming was back and with it the numbing calm. In my Mind's Eye was the gentle softness of my Birthing-Mother only multiplied a thousandfold. I purred at Her presence and stood erect to meet Her._

_She stared at me through the opening of our cave. **Do not fear, little cub. All is well.**_

_"What has happened?" I asked Her, making sure to not make eye-contact._

_**There were intruders in Our Home. The intruders have been taken care of.** Oh, Her voice was kind and Her words were true, I knew that as soon as She spoke them._

_"My Birthing-Family! Where are they?" I was ashamed to be selfish in front of Her but I was worried._

_**They perished. But do not fear, little cub,** She assured me, **for they have been Assimilated into Me. They will live so long as I live.**_

_I was flooded with relief when She told me that. I would make sure She lived, if not for Her glory, then for my Birthing-Family's glory. "Who are you?" As soon as I inquired this of Her I Saw the answer with my Mind's Eye._

_**I am your Great Mother.** And She was; and She was perfect. **Will you dedicate yourself to protect Me, little cub?**_

_I cried out, lurching from my nest to kneel in front of Her. "Yes. I will protect You with all of my power!"_

_ **Do you have mastery over Tha'um, little cub?** _

_"Not yet. My Birthing-Father was going to teach me but all I have learned are a few Destruction Tha'um." I would do anything for Her. Anything at all._

_There was a pause and I Saw her shift in my Mind's Eye. For a single instant, in Her place stood a demon with eight milky eyes and rotting fangs in its mouth. Then She returned to my Sight and I breathed a sigh of relief. **I shall teach you all I know. I will be your teacher as well as your Great Mother.**_

_I was overjoyed to be blessed with such a wonderful opportunity. "Thank you," I crawled low upon the floor of our—my—cave and prostrated myself to Her out of respect. "Thank you Great Mother!"_

_**You are most welcome, little cub.** She smiled at me and I melted. **You will make a fine Guard one Blink-Cycle.** And, despite all the pain and death I had been witness to that Bright-Cycle, I was thankful for this Bright-Cycle. I was glad things had panned out the way they did. I would not change a thing._

_She was all that mattered to me now._

**xxx}-|||)xxx(fsh)xxx**

The intense pain I passed out to was a mere dull throb now as I awoke. Even the ache in my chest from my injured ribs was a mere prickling when I stood. I stretched and scanned my surroundings. If I were to go mad in this place I may as well know every inch of my prison.

Where I was appeared to be was the bottom of a large Fire Mouth—much like the Home of Our Ancestors—only without the Heartfire spilling up. The Fire Mouth was, upon inspection and exploration, fifty wingspans wide one way and thirty-four wingspans wide the other way. Trees grew in patches around the edge and I silently mourned the Draconis who had this prison as a final resting place. There was a small lake in the centre of the Fire Mouth that held a school of fish—some of which I caught and ate to sate my hunger—but not enough to last me the Blink-Cycles that it would take for me to go mad. _I'll starve then._ From what I could observe, the walls of the Fire Mouth were incredibly high, therefore too high for some prongbeast or other prey to accidentally fall in. _Definitely starving first._ The only other type of animal that inhabited my prison were featherbeasts, and I was _not_ going to break ancient law and eat them.

Every cub was taught this: _The fish in the sea and the beasts of the ground are fair prey, as are the Skenndar that walk dumbly on two legs—but never the Skenndar who walk on four. However, the featherbeasts that fly in His Underbelly are brother to us and to eat them would be to consume a Draconis._

Besides...I wouldn't be able to catch them anyways...

I petulantly curled up on myself, mindful of my freshly-severed stabiliser fin, and sighed. Damn Skenndar.

Hearing the featherbeasts chirp, I looked up in time to see one fly over the lip of the Fire Mouth to freedom. I envied the featherbeasts for their flight. That's when it hit me. I had to learn to fly once, who's to say that I couldn't learn again?!

Some time later I had given up on trying to fly straight with my missing fin and had decided to focus my energy on getting the Hel out of the Fire Mouth. I crawled back a few paces and then took a running leap for the imposing wall before me. I made it a quarter of the way up on my own power and tried flapping my wings for a boost while I scrabbled for purchase on the weather-worn wall. My claws slipped and slid past the minuscule cracks in the stone and I found myself slipping again so I kicked off and glided over to the other side of the lake, listing to the right like usual. "Dammit!" I shrieked to His Underbelly. All I heard in response to my roar was an echo, distorted beyond compare. I spat a firebolt at the ground and turned again, taking a running leap again. I pumped my wings furiously, trying to at least make it half way up, but I spiralled out of control and slammed my right side into the rock face.

Again and again I threw myself at the wall, and again and again I failed. It was the lowest part of the wall and I couldn't even clear it enough to climb the rest of the way. My paws and sides were scraped up again and patches of scales were missing from my many failed attempts to leave.

I fell in the lake this time, grunting in annoyance as twinges of pain struck me when the water entered my bloodstream. Pulling myself out, I shook off and stared at the fish inside, stomach grumbling in protest. All the physical exercise was causing my energy reserves to drop rapidly and I needed food and rest to replenish them. Unfortunately I was unable to catch one and I sulked in my impromptu nest of simmering coals and tree-bits. _Stupid fish._

As I settled down, the wind shifted and I caught scent of something familiar: ash, Ringing Midgard, fire, and trees. It was the Skenndar cub! My pupils dilated as I focused on his scent and where he was standing. The wind was blowing at me from the side of the Fire Mouth where I had attempted to escape from but I could not pinpoint his exact location. Did he come to laugh at the downed Draconis? Was he here to finish the job? Now I was not bound by his tricky not-web. Now I was free; now I would return the favour. _I'll take one of your important parts, cub. See how you feel after I tear apart one of your legs!_

Many breaths passed and he did not reveal himself, nor did he end my life from afar. I had curled up on my nest and was currently resting when I heard a clatter from where the cub was hiding. My rage at the pain the Skenndar caused me flared and I glided as best I could to the source. On the floor of the Fire Mouth was a small, charred tree-bit. It smelled of ash and the ashbark it was made from but mostly it smelled of the overwhelming scent of that Skenndar.

I heard a small squeaking noise like a hatchling begging for milk and swiveled my head upwards, my ear-flaps at attention. There, in the craggy outface, I saw the cub. His head-fur was tousled and wild and his eyes—still so much like mine—were wide. He _reeked_ of fear and piddle. I maintained eye-contact with him for a few more breaths before I turned away, picked up the charred tree-bit, and trudged back to my nest, projecting an air of I-don't-give-a-damn as best I could.

Within thirty breaths the cub's smell faded from the wind and I laid my head on my paws in exasperation. He was within reach; I could have batted him from his perch on the wall and taken from him tenfold what he had taken from me. Yet I didn't.

_Why?_ I pondered as I stared cross-eyed at the tree-bit laying between my paws. _I have had two chances now to kill him and yet I didn't. Why didn't I kill him when he freed me? Caest Skenndar sangris! Why didn't I kill him when he was here only breaths ago?! Sangris tenk sangris!_ My nostrils flared and I inhaled the hearty scent that permeated the charred ashbark-bit. Ash, Ringing Midgard, fire, and trees. Why did it fill me with calm.

Was this why I couldn't kill him? Because he smelled good?! What a pathetic reason for sparing a Skenndar's life! I tossed the tree-bit away from me and hid my snout under my remaining stabiliser fin. I stared at it longingly and sighed.

_Great Father above us, hear my plea. Grant me the wisdom of ages so that I might learn the reason the Skenndar cub still lives; why I have let him go on multiple occasions. Allow me to survive the flylust and bring me enough food to survive. I do not desire excess. Please,_ I raised my head toward His darkening Underbelly and pled with the Great Father with all my might, _There must be a reason I am still alive. There must be a reason I broke free of Her Mindtrap. There must be a reason I am here instead of thousands of wingbeats away from this accursed place. If You would be so kind, give me a sign of my reason here on this forsaken piece of Midgard. I cannot survive on my own power. I need You, Great Father, to nurture me in the way that only You do. There is truth in Song._ Prayer finished, I curled back into a little snug ball and closed my eyes.

As I drifted off to sleep I smelled the faint scent of ash, Ringing Midgard, fire, and trees. I blissfully basked in that scent as He Wept all night.

**xxx}-|||)xxx(fsh)xxx**

_I met the Skenndar's eyes and kept contact for many breaths, never once blinking (neither did he). As we stayed face-to-snout he reached forward with one paw. "Tannlaus. Nótt Heift." Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "Vinur minn. Skuldabréf-bróðir minn."_

_I watched as the cub, no longer a cub but a full-grown Skenndar sire, backed away from me. His mouth opened up and he screamed, a high, keening sound much like the ones that injured hatchlings make. It pierced my soul, my very being, and I leapt forward only to encounter a large barrier of strange whispering symbols._

_"Þú getur ekki flý ja," they murmured to me, "Hún mun finna þig og skuldabréf-bróður þinn. Hún mun drepa skuldabréf-bróður þinn. Hún mun rjúfa skudabréf. Þú verður að þjást." He screamed louder and I pound myself against the wall of symbols to no avail. It does not budge—it did not budge—it will not budge.. "Það er ekkert undan. Þú getur ekki flý ja. Öll él Mikla Móður. Drepa Villutrúarmaður. Brjóta skuldabréf. Brjóta skuldabréf. Það er ekkert undan. Þetta er örlög. Brjóta skuldabréf."_

_The scene shifts, like His Tears blurring Midgard's harsh edges, and I am facing a large Egg. It is important and yet terrifying. I bow to the Egg and sing to the Egg. Beside me is the Skenndar not-cub bowing and singing to the Egg as well. His eyes are dull and lifeless and blood trickles from his mouth. This is wrong._

_I cannot stop._

_The Egg hatches and She emerges, a rotten corpse with wings. Her eyes are blind but Her Mind's Eye is bright and she spots the not-cub immediately. She is drawn to his bright Form and his strong Mind and She reaches down to pluck him from the Heartfire we are standing in. He doesn't scream—didn't scream—won't scream. He was silent—is silent—will be silent._

_I am not._

_I scream at Her. I shoot firebolt after firebolt until I have no more fire to shoot. I scream every Tha'um I know. My legs are weak and my wings are made of Ringing Midgard. I cannot move. I cannot fight back. I cannot save him. I weep._

_The scene shifts._

_I will be plummiting. I will fall towards Midgard with surprising speed. No breaths will pass in between the time I begin falling and now. No breaths will pass in between now and when I hit Midgard. _

_Only I do not—did not—will not._

_I will pull away, the not-cub on my back. He will roar with pleasure and I will join in. His Bright Eye will set on our flight. We will live forever. It will be perfect._

_The scene shifts._

_Breathe in breathe out do not let them near me. They do not understand they cannot understand they will never understand. I am alone. I am alone. I am alone. Why am I alone? Why? I am hated it must be otherwise why would I be alone all the time. No one understands me they never will no Draconis will ever get me. He gets me. Never ever in a million years ever._

_The scene shifts._

_I am a Skenndar. He is a Skenndar. We seasonmate._

_He is a Skenndar. She is a Skenndar. They lifemate._

_They are Skenndar. I am Skenndar. We are mates._

_Everyone lives._

_The scene shifts._

_A red stream of fire. A blue stream of fire. Two trees. A vine._

_The scene shifts._

_I am Draconis. He is Draconis. We fly together._

_I am Draconis. He is. We fly together._

_I am. He is. We fly._

_I am. He. We fly._

_I. He. We._

_Together._

_The scene shifts._


End file.
